Read The House You Pass on the Way for Free Online Page B

tried that name out on me.”
    They stared at each other, smiling. One of Trout’s eyebrows curved into an arch, which made her look skeptical even when she was smiling. Staggerlee remembered all those love-at-first-sight stories she used to read—how she had never believed them. But standing there, in the Tudor bus station, she felt something weird happening inside her stomach and all around her—like something pounding, trying to get out of her. Her mind kept running back to Hazel in those cornflowers.
    “Seems neither of you were happy with the names your mamas gave you,” Daddy said.
    Staggerlee jumped. She had forgotten he was standing there.
    He lifted Trout’s duffel into the back of the truck.
    “My mother named me Danielle, sir. Ida and Jonathan named me Tyler.”
    “And you don’t consider Ida and Jonathan your people?” Daddy asked. “Because if they’re not your people, then what does that make me and this fine daughter of mine, who just drove a good long way to pick up a city-slick niece and cousin we heard was coming in from Baltimore?”
    Staggerlee glared at him. He seemed out of place—like a wall between her and Trout.
    “Yes, sir,” Trout said quietly, glancing away from him. “They’re my people. They raised me.”
    “Well then, Miss Trout Danielle Tyler,” Daddy said, “welcome to Calmuth County. My mama, your grandma, named me Elijah and I think I’ll hold on to that name awhile.”
    Trout smiled and followed behind Daddy, taking high steps to keep her shoes from getting covered in red dust.
    “It’s a losing battle, Trout,” Staggerlee said, pointing down at her own hiking boots.
    “You always wear those boots?”
    “Most of the time.”
    “They look like it. I brought stuff with me to keep my shoes shined. You can use it if you want. Can we ride in back, Uncle Elijah?” She hoisted her knapsack into the truck.
    Staggerlee frowned. Who’d ever heard of shiny hiking boots?
    “Probably get a bit windy back there,” Daddy said.
    “I don’t mind.” She looked at Staggerlee. “You mind, Staggerlee?”
    “No.” Maybe Staggerlee would have followed Trout to the end of the world.
    “Okay then,” Daddy said, climbing into the cab.
    Trout climbed into the back easily and scooted to one corner. Staggerlee climbed up after her and settled against a bag of fertilizer her father had picked up in town. Red dust kicked up around the truck as he slowly maneuvered it back onto the main road. Staggerlee tried not to look at Trout, but Trout was looking hard at her, so that every time Staggerlee’s eyes slid in Trout’s direction, they bumped smack against hers.
    Staggerlee started braiding her hair—hoping to keep the wind from whipping it into snarls.
    “Don’t do that,” Trout said. “I like it.”
    Staggerlee let it drop back into a ponytail.
    “Ida said she was sending me here to spend time with some ladies and gentlemen,” Trout said above the noise of the truck. “You sure don’t look like a lady.”
    “How’s a lady supposed to look?”
    Trout shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I guess liking lipstick and dresses and stuff. Wearing bras. Ida says one day I’m going to be too big for T-shirts. I hope that day isn’t planning on coming soon.”
    “I still wear T-shirts too.”
    Trout smiled. “Good. Otherwise, I’d be embarrassed.”
    “And anyway, Ida never even met us before.”
    “I know. But we’ve seen lots of pictures. You know—in newspapers and magazines and stuff.”
    “Didn’t reporters bother you all?” Staggerlee asked.
    “Shoot,” Trout said. “Once in a blue. They don’t care anything about our boring lives. Ida married a college professor. Hallique started a couple of fund-raising organizations for black people—for a while, reporters were into that. But the organizations ran out of money and she went back to her regular life being a secretary. They wanted you guys for the dirt. Look at you—you could pass for white. The press